


Wasted Man

by mithmitch



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21601075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithmitch/pseuds/mithmitch
Summary: Just some shorts of my Fallout 4 character Joey that I'll post as I write them.
Kudos: 2





	Wasted Man

The snow piled high on the rotten wood. The cabin Joey had taken shelter in was half gone, but it would serve its purpose for the night. It would be a cold night, and an even colder morning, waking up to the glint of the year’s first snow. Joey laid out his bedroll, and let his mind wander. If there is one thing Joey will always remember, it will be waking up to the sound of Kit’s breathing. Her long black hair frizzing up out of her braid. The spot of drool sliding down her cheek. The faded smell of yesterday’s perfume, the smile she graced him with as she awoke. And the sound of Shawn’s cries. Joey’s brow furrowed. The memory was changing. The warm morning light became cold, clinical. Suddenly Kit was a thousand miles away, wrestling their child from this stranger. Then she was dead. Then his son was gone. Then Joey was alone. He didn’t realize it at the time, but that was it. That was the end for him. He would survive, he would keep fighting, that was all he knew. But he wouldn’t  _ live _ , ever again. 

None of Joey’s memories were good anymore. What little he remembers from before the war was tainted with the ash and bitterness of the world he lives in now. And all that he remembers from after the war was a ghost. A ghost wearing his face and using his hands and killing his- No. It wasn’t a ghost. It was Joey. Maybe that’s who he was. A killer. No. That  _ is _ who he is. And now he pretends he’s better than that. That some unseen force took hold of him for those dreadful months as he murdered his way back to his son, for his son. Like he’s back to normal now. Maybe. Joey wasn’t sure of much anymore.

Was that rage who he was? That cold, uncaring rage? But it wasn’t uncaring. It cared about one thing.  _ Shawn. _ His son. Kit’s son. His pride and joy, the light of his li-. No. Shawn was different now. His name wasn’t even Shawn anymore. It was  _ Father. _ He was older now, older than Joey by decades. Almost half a century. And he was  _ cruel. _ The cruelest kind, the kind of cruel that pretended it cared about the world while pillaging it. Maybe he thought he cared. Maybe he thought that by advancing technology, he advanced humanity. But while he created life from nothing, he turned life into nothing. Murdering whole settlements. A  _ murderer. _ And Joey helped him.

Joey smiled sadly. A murderer by actions and a murderer by association. That was the legacy he left behind. A part of it at least. Maybe… maybe he could create a new legacy. He couldn't heal the damage he had wrought, but he could bandage them, ease the pain. He could help. But how? Nobody would think to let him help, they were more likely to shoot on sight. And who could blame them. The list of people Joey hadn’t wronged had grown very short in his last few weeks with the Institute. But there had to be somebody…

Joey’s head snapped up. Preston Garvey. The Minutemen. He had helped them. Maybe they would let him do it again. He sat up, gathered his bedroll and saddled his horse. It nickered at being interrupted from it’s sleep, and Joey soothed a hand along it’s head. The cabin lay forgotten behind him as he made way for the Castle. The snow piled high on rotten wood, and Joey marched with a purpose.


End file.
